Quintile Five of Pentacles
by Beth Winter
Summary: We have such history, you and I." And out of this history, five glimpses as Gabriel Van Helsing travels through Romania and through his own memory.


A note of introduction: With the Valerious heritage, the screenwriters of Van Helsing deprived Vlad Draculya of all his real-world history - he couldn't be Prince if his father were still alive to curse him after his death. To have the best of both worlds, let us assume Dracula is the sister-son of the founder of the Valerious family instead of his son, and the old Dragon remains Dracula's father.

* * *

**QUINTILE (FIVE OF PENTACLES)**

Five of Pentacles: The Lord of Material Trouble. (...) One meaning of this card has been "growing closer together through adversity" (...) Standing on the outside looking wistfully inside the colored window helps no one. This is a card of taking care of yourself responsibly, or, if you are unable to take care of yourself, getting help from others. It is not a card of silent suffering, of patient martyrdom.  
- Nina Lee Braden

O-O-O

His horse was even-tempered and knew the road well. It plodded on without any guidance from its rider. Van Helsing's thoughts were far from the road that would take him to Bucharest, and then to sea and back to Rome.

Van Helsing... He still thought of himself that way. "Gabriel," he always heard in that rich, low voice. At midnight it would be two days since the death of Count Vladislaus Draculya.

At his side, Carl whopped with joy at the sight of an inn, its torches already lit in the twilight. Quick on the heels of that exclamation came a curse as the friar's less well-mannered gelding shied and tried to bolt.

After spending the previous night on half-frozen ground, and the day in the saddle, Van Helsing wasted no time before digging into a bowl of spicy stew in the inn's common room. Carl took his time before rejoining him. Finally the friar appeared.

"What kept you?" Van Helsing had thought that with Carl's complaints about travel rations the night before, he'd be the first to supper.

"I had to ask the innkeeper to help me with the horses. He had this horse that listens to no-one but him. I didn't believe it before I saw it - I could scream at the thing for ages, but all he had to do was say its name and it went where he wanted it to."

"It's an old Romanian way of training horses. That way no-one steals them."

Carl snorted and dug into his stew. He didn't notice that his companion was staring into the darkness outside the inn window.

O-O-O

**I. Horse**

"Oh, Gabriel..."

Gabriel Van Helsing sighed - so much for his afternoon's nap. When his friend's voice got this sing-song tone, trouble was sure to follow. Trouble for Gabriel, of course, and often accompanied by the other's laughter as he watched from the sidelines.

This looked like one of those times, since there were mischievous sparks in Vlad's eyes as he poked his head into Gabriel's tent. "Can I borrow you for a moment? I want you to try out one of the horses that just arrived."

Gabriel sighed and got up to follow his friend. The spring mud squelched and held tightly to his boots each time he stepped in it. The horse was in a patch of bare ground near the middle of the camp; it was nothing particularly impressive. Gabriel came up to the animal, conscious of the fact Vlad has fallen back. The horse let itself be petted, which was a good sign. Gabriel swung up into the saddle.

Three heartbeats later he was sitting on the ground and spitting out mud.

"I'm sorry," Vlad said. He looked as smugly unrepentant as the horse he was petting.

"What the hell was that about?" Gabriel demanded.

"I devised this method of training a few years ago. Even if the rider's unhorsed in battle, this horse won't be of any use to the enemy." Vlad's lips quirked. "By the way, you look like a mud doll."

Gabriel tried for a glower, but had to smile back.

Vlad reached out to him and helped him rise.

O-O-O

A night in a real bed had done Carl a world of good, since the next morning he was in high spirits. He didn't mind the fact that Van Helsing's participation in the conversation on the road was reduced to grunts and gestures. The hunter was too busy remembering.

"-and if I find the right propellant, I can make the barrel crossbow more like a gun that fires bolts. Guns are good. Imagine, Van Helsing, if you had to fight everyone with a sword..."

Van Helsing grunted. "I'm good with a sword."

Carl was saying that yes, he knew that, but his words were lost between the trees. Van Helsing was remembering again.

O-O-O

**II. Sword**

"Watch your left!" Gabriel let his sword follow his warning.

Vlad danced out of range, breathing heavily and almost slipping on the wet moss. "Looks like you're watching it for me!"

Gabriel circled a tree, trying to get closer to Vlad's left side. "You're still fighting like you have a shield. This isn't a tournament field."

Vlad lifted his sword in a formal salute. "You know, when I offered to spar, I hoped to teach _you_ a few tricks."

"Keep hoping." Gabriel jumped to the right and attacked Vlad's uncovered side.

To be met by a dagger in Vlad's left hand, a dagger Gabriel barely had time to intercept.

Gabriel let the momentum carry him forward until he was pinning Vlad to a tree, both their swords useless at this close range. He squeezed his friend's wrist until the dagger fell to the forest floor.

"Nice."

Vlad looked unsure whether to snarl or grin. "Not nice enough."

"Maybe next time."

Gabriel stepped away, letting go of Vlad's hand.

O-O-O

The forest around them thinned as the road climbed up a hill. There was a village in the valley below, with children playing in the streets, but the hill's occupants were grimmer.

"Do people get hanged here often?" Carl was fascinated by the gallows.

A crow cawed at them. The bird looked eager to get on with his lunch.

"Yeah. It's not as bad as it once was - before, they impaled criminals."

Carl winced. "I thought only Dracula did that?"

"No, all the lords and princes did."

Van Helsing looked at a hanging cadaver's face. The village hangman was good - the neck must have snapped instantly. Impaling had not been as merciful, he remembered.

O-O-O

**III. Crown**

"We're finished, sire." The captain's eyes shone with the devotion that Vlad inspired in all his soldiers, made stronger now by the victories over the Turks. Their prince was also their saviour now. "There were fifteen thousand of them."

"Good work." Vlad's voice was approving, his face calm, but Gabriel could see the slight hollow in one cheek. He knew Vlad was biting the inside of his mouth, hard enough to taste blood.

Gabriel followed the prince out of the room once the captain had been dismissed. Vlad led the way up to the solar room and its open windows. Gabriel stopped next to his friend, looking out into Hell.

There were fifteen thousand Turkish soldiers impaled below the castle hill. Fifteen thousand twisted, blackened faces raised up to the sky.

"What do you think about this, Gabriel?"

"I think Radu will take one look at this and go right back."

"I hope so." Vlad's eyes were closed, his face grey with exhaustion. "I don't have the military power. I have to be enough of a monster to save Romania from my own brother and his Turks. It's the only way I can fight them."

"You'd do anything for Romania." Gabriel knew better than to phrase it as a question. "I wish this hand hadn't been dealt to you."

He got a smile for that, a real one.

On the window sill, Vlad's clenched hands were a hair's breadth from his own.

O-O-O

Carl's horse whinnied, breaking Van Helsing out of his reverie.

"Look," the friar whispered. "Is this real hope of food and fire tonight, or am I seeing things?"

The monastery did look like a dream from a previous age. The slender half-columns on the facade drew the eye upward to three tall towers, each crowned with the bi-cross of the Orthodox faith. Then they went past the trees and there were two cloisters, one's spires touching the sky and the other's sinking into the lake. The mirror-columns shimmered as boats crossed to the shore and back, taking advantage of the last of daylight.

Another ice-shard of memory. "It's Snagov Monastery. It's real enough."

The orthodox monks were not averse to having two minions of the Vatican sharing their supper. After the evening's mass Van Helsing lit a candle for Anna, then walked around the chapel.

There was an old stone plaque next to the door, covered with dust. He wiped it clean and let his fingers trace the familiar words. VLADISLAVS DRACVLEA ME CONDIDIT. Vladislaus Dracula founded me.

O-O-O

**IV. Cross**

Sound carried far at night. Gabriel heard the waves on the lake, the snoring of the soldiers and monks, the crackling of a guard fire. One of the guards on duty was whittling something. But none of the sounds was the one he was looking for.

He found Vlad in the chapel, in front of a prayer-candle stand.

"For the souls of the dead?" he asked.

"If I wanted to light one for everyone I killed, I'd need to fill the Haga Sophia with flame."

"At least. But I like Snagov fine."

Vlad smiled. "Of all the monasteries I founded, I like it the best. It's calm."

Gabriel shook his head. "Nightmares again? I didn't hear you screaming."

"It wasn't that bad." Vlad lit another candle, as if enough light could drive his dreams away. "I dreamed of the Turkish prison again. I'd do anything to protect my people from them. And to preserve my faith."

Vlad looked at the iconostas, the painted saints with their dark, knowing eyes. Against their splendour the Romanian prince looked fragile and desperately mortal.

Gabriel put a hand on his arm. Vlad clutched at it tightly.

O-O-O

Van Helsing woke early. The monks were gathering for the dawn prayers, but he chose to walk around the island instead. The early sunlight turned the lake into silver silk.

In winter, those waters would freeze deeply, so that an armoured knight could walk across the lake. In winter, the trees on the island would be just another part of the forest around them. He remembered it.

O-O-O

**V. Devil**

Blood stained the ice, binding with it. Until the spring, it would tell of the deaths of the Turks and the Romanians alike. The victory had been dearly bought; only two people were standing on the shore of Snagov Island.

There was a feverish gleam in Vlad's eyes. "I thought you were in Italy, Gabriel. Did you come all this way to rescue me?"

"I heard you were fighting the Turks again." Gabriel picked up a handful of snow and cleaned the blood from his blade.

"I'll be grateful for your help - this was a narrow escape. I need to bring Romania together again, to defeat the Turks." Vlad leaned against a tree, catching his breath after the fight on the ice.

Gabriel watched him closely. "And you'd do anything to stop them?"

Vlad cocked his head. "What do you mean?"

"I heard rumours. Of a deal you made." The sword was heavy in his hand.

"These are desperate times." The silver ring with the Dragon crest glinted as Vlad sheathed his sword. "If selling my soul is all it takes to save my people - with the blood on my hands, it was forfeit anyway. What do you care about that?"

Gabriel stepped closer to Vlad. His lips tightened. "How much do you know about me?"

Vlad shrugged. "You're older than you look, and younger than you sound. You fight for the faith, you've been doing it for a long time. They call you the Hand of God."

"Yes." Gabriel saw Vlad tilt his head, trying to hear the near-whisper. "The Hand of God."

The sword went in too easily. It pinned the body to the tree, and the blood dripping from the blade stained the snow.

Vlad opened his mouth in surprise, tried to speak but only coughed up blood. He reached out to Gabriel.

Gabriel gripped that hand. The right cut into his skin. Vlad looked at their entwined fingers and smiled.

O-O-O

Van Helsing traced the edges of an old cut in the trunk of an ancient oak tree. The ring on his finger glinted in the pre-dawn light.

He should have burned the body. But instead, the monks buried it. Folk tales would have it that the soul took three days to leave, and then the dead could come back as a vampire, a shadow of its human self.

It had been three days since the battle at Castle Dracula. Van Helsing looked towards the east.

The sun was rising.

**FINIS**

O-O-O

Note:  
All drabbles are based on either historical or apocryphal accounts of Vlad Draculya's life. Snagov Monastery is considered to be his resting place, after he was killed in a nearby ambush by Turks.


End file.
